Friday, September 13, 2013

It would be reprehensible to blog while my employees are schlepping films up the stairs of our new and yet to be air conditioned office. I likely will not post on the following two Fridays either but for a more fun excuse. Back soon.

Friday, September 6, 2013

The
temple is filled with young families. Parents convey their superior
child-rearing skills by over-enunciating and speaking more loudly
than necessary to their kids. A group of Occidental students arrive
in two vans. A pretty girl carries a biography of Hannah Arendt. I
blurt out that I just helped my son do a project about Arendt who
taught at the college he attends. I babble on and tell all the kids
to call their parents to wish them L'Shanah Tova. I guess now that my
own kids are no longer around to embarrass, I'm reduced to
embarrassing myself. Spuds reports that he's attended a service at
Bard which he liked except for the rotten food. Joe College and his
handful of Jewish friends probably gave at least a cursory nod to the
Days of Awe. I suspect the Awe-someness may have been enhanced by
liquor.

Spuds
has been gone less than a month but I am already amassing a list of
firsts. The first Shabbat without the kids. The first time I couldn't
figure out how to operate the TV remote And now, the first Rosh
Hashanah without my boys. The adjustment to what's referred to as
Part Two will come, I know. It just hasn't happened yet. I mope
around and Himself chastises me for watching too much TV and not
reading a single thing. I binge on Downton Abbey and the sappy score
nearly puts him over the edge. I do read magazines while I eat my
breakfast and if Himself didn't sleep so late he would witness this.
I explain that I am depressed and he is genuinely surprised. “Do
you miss,” he challenges me, “the 24/7 throbbing sub-woofer?”
“I wouldn't mind it,” I say only to myself, not to provoke him
when there are no kids around to give us a reason not to fight.

This
first week of the Jewish year is my last week at an office I've owned
and worked out for nearly two decades. Thousands of pages of my
father's neatly printed notes are transcribed and relegated to the
recycling bin. Huge film racks are ripped off the walls and broken
down for scrap. Boxes are stacked with tiny snippets for film, lenses
for projectors we're not sure we have anymore, rolls of powder blue
leader labels and stuff that may be important but we don't know what
it is. The new owner has dismantled what was left of our air
conditioning. It seems that wherever we are and whatever we need
it's always at the other office.

On
paper, the first of the empty nest era, referred to as Part Two
sounds pretty good. I return from an excellent couple days in New
York with Spuds and old friends and a mind blowing trip to London. I
only have to cook for one fussy eater who can be placated with
leftovers more readily than his spawn. TaskRabbit is a new discovery
and for $15. a nice young man arrives promptly to diagnose my
pathetic error in attempting to operate the television and does not
shame me as others have. The new office, when I'm done with it, will
be homey and elevated from my dad's utilitarian workplace ethos. And
there is a landlady to call when anything breaks.

I
have a new (to me) car, a bright blue C30 Volvo. I fell in love with
this jaunty little model, which resembles the froggy Volvos of the
'70s, the first time I saw it. I haven't had a car I loved since
before the kids were born. I've had two Volvo wagons. Nice,
powerful, well designed cars but militantly not sexy. I call my new
baby Blueie. A sucker, I am charmed by contraptions enhanced with
human qualities. Blueie has Bluetooth and says his own name (in my
voice) every time I start him. ( I also have personal relationship
with our Neato Vacuum who refers to himself as “I”and “me.” I
call him Robo.) The first time we take Blueie for a spin Himself
asked me why I kept patting the steering wheel. I am not really
aware of doing this but I am insanely over the moon for this car. So
over the moon, that Rover, the best but also the shedding-ist dog
ever born, is banned from Blueie. I've kept the wagon, with it's
headliner of white fur, broken door handle, torn seats and old car
aroma to transport Rover to the office. Blueie is my weekend car and
the old wagon, Rover's limo. Note: Illustration is a representation of Blueie. Too hot to go outside and take real photo.

Joe
College calls. He is down. Dorm living was preferable to living off
campus for his first two years. Or at least, tolerable. Now, most of
his friends are living off campus and he is among the older students
still in the dorm. The younger students are needy. It gets on his
nerves. He says he doesn't have a quiet moment to himself. I'm sorry
the boy is frustrated but it is good to feel mom-ish. I was
reluctantly approved for off campus status at Johnston with a
cockamamie story about the mail room screwing up film shipments from
my dad which I needed to screen for my studies. This is why no one
recognizes me or even my name at reunions. Looking back, I should
have stayed in the dorm but I completely understand Joe College
feeling disgusted. I explain that chances are that his scholarship
can't be converted to subsidize off-campus housing but advise him to
verify this. I tell him that although he is sick of hearing about my
office problems it is the last week in the old office and it is so
hot and there have been huge complications so I don't feel up to
giving him good advice. He asks then about the move and says he's
sorry for bothering me. “You're not BOTHERING ME! I've just had a
hard week,” I start to wail. “Plus I've been really sad. And
lonely! I know! Instead of moving off campus, just come home after
your Thursday morning class and stay until Sunday night every week.
You'd have peace and quiet and we can hang together!” I suspect
any further discussion about moving off campus has been nipped in the
bud.